Better Than Alone
by Memories Left Abandoned
Summary: Everything was settling into place until everything was falling apart. Slash. Rating for language and theme. Now complete!
1. The Resistance

**A/N: So I had a bunch of ideas pop in to my head today, and this was the coolest of them. It's pretty twisty and dark. Alternating Riley/Ben POV, slash. Six part.**

**Disclaimer: Despite the fact that I'm head over heels in love with Riley, he's not mine. Neither are the rest of the characters.**

Everything was settling into place until everything was falling apart.

It had been exactly ten years to the day that I'd known Ben Gates. Over those ten years, he had become my best friend, my partner in crime (literally), and, more recently, my lover. And, somehow, he loved me, too.

It had been five years since discovering the Templar treasure, three since discovering Cibola, and two since discovering our mutual feelings.

In two years, I'd fallen deeper and harder in love than I ever imagined I could. We were even considering adoption, or marriage. Or both.

We had actually talked about both that night, laying in bed together. My head was on his chest, and his arm was around my shoulders as he traced strange patterns against my skull.

"That feels good," I sighed contentedly, enjoying the feel of the rise and fall of his chest.

"Mhm," he confirmed. I smiled, and for a moment we laid in silence. "Did you know it's been ten years today that we've known each other?" he asked.

I turned my head so I could see his face. "Has it only been ten? It feels like forever."

He smiled but didn't really respond, so we lapsed into comfortable silence again. "I looked at the adoption center's website today," he said quietly.

I sat up and looked at him. "You did?"

"Yeah," he nodded, sitting up as well.

"What did it say?" I asked, a strange combination of anxiety and excitement churning in my stomach.

"It said it's a lot easier to adopt if you're married or in a civil union."

I thought about his words, which seemed strange to me. Then I realized… "Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

"Maybe," he whispered, his face so close to mine I was finding it hard to breathe. "Would you want to?"

"Yes," I whispered back. He took my chin in his hands.

"Then yes, I am," he answered. He kissed me, lightly at first, but, inevitably, it deepened, and we ended up tangled in each other and breathing deeply.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing me again.

"Love you too," I murmured into his lips. I fell asleep purely blissful.

NTNTNTNT

The bliss hardly lasted beyond the final flicker of my eyes. I fell deeply and quickly into a nightmare…

_His face leered hauntingly before mine. 'So now you're with Gates?'_

_'Yes,' I answered, 'and I'm happy, so leave me alone,' I commanded._

_'Are you? Really?' he asked with a menacing laugh. 'Then why would you do this?'_

_His face moved closer to mine, and I resisted with everything I could…_

I awoke with a scream, waking Ben out of his sound sleep. I couldn't breathe for fear, and I threw myself out of the bed.

"Ri?" he asked, sitting up. "What's wrong?"

I had no idea how to put it without sounding completely crazy and paranoid. "Nothing," I lied, hoping he'd believe me. "I just had a nightmare." After pacing a moment more, I returned to bed, and he immediately wrapped me in his arms.

"You're alright now," he whispered soothingly into my ear. "You're safe."

With his help, I calmed down enough to lay down again within a few minutes. His arms never unwrapped themselves from me, and I tilted my head up to his. "Thank you," I whispered.

He kissed me lightly. "You're welcome."

When I fell asleep again, it was dreamless.

NTNTNTNT

When he left the next morning, he told me he'd be home early that night. I was giddy—Ben coming home early always meant something good.

Around ten, after I'd eaten breakfast and consumed a Mountain Dew and a half, I began to write. I was so lost in my work, that when the grandfather clock Ben insisted on keeping struck three, I was so shocked I half-jumped out of my seat.

"That clock will be the death of me," I muttered, calming myself down. I was just returning to my laptop when I could have sworn I heard a shouted command.

Confused, I turned from my work. "Hello?" I asked into the quiet.

There was no answer.

Paranoid, but feeling silly, I returned my eyes to the screen. It had been a few minutes, and I had all but forgotten about the yell, when another yell, this one pained, shocked me into fear.

I had a few options. I could call Ben, but I didn't want to bother him with something so silly. I could hide, but that just seemed dumb. I finally decided on staying where I was. Whatever was out there, I was probably imagining it.

I tried to focus on the words, but was unsuccessful. It had been three minutes since the second yell when a knock on my door set my heart pounding anew.

Forcing my fears into submission, I shakily stood and went to answer the door—

"Hello," greeted an evil, oh-so-familiar voice.

So I wasn't paranoid after all.

"Get the fuck away from me," I whispered, shaking my head, and taking an automatic step back.

"No can do," he answered, stepping in the door and making it impossible for me to escape. "Now that I've served my time, I'm planning on tearing you and Gates apart bit by bit."

"How are you even here?" I asked. "What about prison?"

"Got out on good behavior," he explained with a shrug. "Or, in other words, I kissed the asses of the right people."

I snorted. "You got out on good behavior? I highly doubt that."

A gun was suddenly pulled out of his inside coat pocket and pressed up against my forehead. "I wouldn't doubt anything if I were you," he threatened.

I wasn't. I tried desperately to make myself breathe, but I could think only of Ben and what he would think…

"So what, you're living with him now?" he snarled. "What happened to the blonde?"

"None of your business," I managed bravely through my fear.

Dropping the hand that held the gun, I was feeling lucky until the fist I hadn't seen coming collided with my jaw, and I began to slump to the floor.

"And now?" he asked.

"Still nothing you need to know," I muttered against the pain in my jaw.

He shook his head, frustrated with my lack of cooperation. "Then this will be that much more painful for you," he muttered. He punched me again, in the same place, and the pain made me black out.

_You wanna watch us break_

_Be the first to take us down_

_But your teeth are worn_

_And there's no stopping us now_

"The Resistance," Anberlin

NTNTNTNT

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? …review, please?**


	2. Giving It Away

**A/N: Well I have an upper respiratory infection, so I'm home again today. And possibly tomorrow, depending on how I feel.**

**I'm a little unsure about this chapter, because I was majorly slap-happy today (again. stupid meds =/) and I had a hard time focusing. Plus, Ben is SO much harder to write than Riley. **

**Disclaimer: Sadly, the characters aren't mine. Isn't that unfortunate? Having Riley here would make me so much less bored…**

I arrived home early, like I'd promised Riley. I never suspected anything was wrong—his Ferrari was still in the driveway, and nothing outside looked any different.

My first hint was the deafening silence that greeted me upon my entrance. Normally Riley would be blaring some obscure song or another. "Ri?" I questioned into the silence.

There was no response.

I removed my coat and hung my keys up in the kitchen. His keys were still hanging there, and there was no note pinned to the cork above the hooks. Nor was there a note on the kitchen counter, nor on the dining room table, nor anywhere in the living room. I found that his laptop was still plugged in, and he'd left his latest chapter up.

"Riley? Are you here?" I called one more time. Still, there was no response.

Concerned, I tried to call his cell phone. I could hear it ringing upstairs, and I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he was asleep. That was surely better than the alternative…

I had to call twice before I could locate the phone. To my dismay, it was plugged in to the bathroom wall.

And Riley was still missing.

I was beginning to panic now. My first instinct was to call Abigail.

"Hello?

"Have you seen Riley?" I asked in a rush.

"No," she answered. "Why?"

I suddenly felt like I was going to be very sick. "He's gone," I moaned, barely aware she was still on the line.

"I'm sure he's not gone," she tried to console. "Where would he go?"

"I don't know," I admitted, running my free hand through my hair. "But he's gone and his phone and his car are still here but he's not—"

"Slow down," she commanded. "I'm coming over. In the mean time, you're going to have to calm yourself down. I'll be over in ten, okay?"

"Okay."

"Breathe, Ben. Riley is okay, I promise."

Without answering or believing her, I hung up the phone. I searched the entire house again, looking for any sort of clue. When I found none, I began to pace angrily as I thought of anywhere he might be.

It was in this state that Abigail found me. I'd answered the door, said a quick hello and resumed my pace.

I was onto a thought—what if he'd taken a walk and gotten lost or hurt?—when she stood directly in my path.

"Benjamin Franklin Gates, calm down this instant," she said commandingly. As I had no response but to stare at her, she grabbed hold of my shoulders and steered me into a chair in the living room.

Riley's chair.

I tried to shake the thought as she began to speak. "You've checked every floor?"

"Yes," I affirmed, rolling my eyes.

"And you've tried his cell?"

"Yes."

"And his keys are still here?"

"If you're only going to ask me stupid questions you might as well have stayed at home," I growled.

She glared at me, then declared, "I need to think."

A wave of nostalgia passed over me as I recalled the last time I'd said that. It had been five years ago, in the cargo hold of the Charlotte…

With Riley.

"Distraction," I muttered, grabbing the TV remote and flipping to a news station.

"Reps for the starts have confirmed that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are going to adopt another child. They are planning on adopting from China. This will the couple's seventh child."

"Fascinating," I muttered sarcastically. I was ready to change the channel when a familiar face appeared on the screen, one that still gave me chills.

"In other news, the famed Ian Howe has been released from prison on good behavior after five years. He is famous for kidnapping and attempting to murder Ben Gates, the treasure hunter. Howe will be on parole for two years."

Slowly, uncertainly, I turned to Abigail.

"He wouldn't," I managed, even though I knew he would.

"Call Sadusky," she whispered, her voice sounding shocked and horrified.

Numbly, I pulled the phone from my pocket and dialed his number. After three rings, he answered.

"Agent Sadusky, FBI, speaking."

"Riley's missing," I said.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "And you've checked everywhere—"

"Please don't make me answer those questions again. His car and phone are here, but he's not."

"Where do you think he's gone?" he asked, sounding thoughtful.

I had to literally force the words out of my mouth. "I think he was kidnapped."

There was silence again. "That's a very serious accusation, Ben," he said.

"Have you seen the news?" I asked quietly. "Ian's out of prison. And somehow, on the same day, Riley's gone. Do you have an alternative?"

"I'm compiling a list of possible locations now."

I breathed in deeply. Having Sadusky on my side would be a fantastic help. I nodded to Abigail so she would know he'd agreed to help, and she smiled.

Waiting for the agent to say something—for instance, that Riley was just down the road and would be fine—was absolute torture. It was like he was purposely working as slow as he could to see how much it would bother me.

Finally he spoke. "The most likely place he might be is the Treasure Inn in New York. It's owned by Michael Powell, a close friend of Ian's."

I rolled my eyes. "So close, in fact, he was a co-conspirator. Alright. What's the address?"

"What are you planning to do, Ben? Barge in and demand he hand Riley over? I hate to tell you this, but he'll probably be armed and have accomplices."

"I don't care!" I exclaimed, exasperated.

He sighed. "At least let me send agents to help you."

Annoyed, I gave in. "Fine. But they're meeting us there. I can't just stand around and wait for your agents to show up while Riley might be dying."

"Fine. I'll keep you posted."

"Thank you." I hung up and turned to Abigail.

"It sounds like we're headed to New York City," I sighed.

_The nights are forever and maybe I'm wrong_

_But it feels like I'm so lost without you_

"Giving It Away" Mae

**A/N: Hm. Unsure. Hoping the next chapter will be better. …review, please?**


	3. Set the Fire to the Third Bar

**A/N: Hm. I think I like this chapter. It's certainly interesting. Surprise at the end, I think. Okay. Moving on. Riley's POV this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, even with my continual begging. Stupid little mouse.**

When I awoke, I was clearly no longer at home. My head was throbbing painfully, which made it nearly impossible to open my eyes, and my throat was practically on fire.

"Water," I croaked to whoever was around.

After a moment, a glass of water was placed in my hands. I lifted my eyelids enough to see who had given me the cup.

Ian's face swam in and out of view as I tried to shake myself awake. "Thank you," I muttered in spite of myself. I took a sip as he returned to his chair on the opposite side of the room.

When I finally managed to open my eyes, I observed my surroundings. It was dark, of course, and there was only one chair in the room—the chair Ian occupied. I realized I was sitting on the floor against the wall, facing him. There was one lamp in the corner of the room, but it gave off only enough light for me to see the shadow of his face.

"Can I ask where I am?" I asked him, not really expecting him to answer.

"The basement of a hotel in New York City," he answered. "A hotel conveniently owned by a good friend of mine who doesn't mind us being here."

I leaned my head against the wall. How was anyone ever going to find me? There are about twenty million hotels in New York, and that was if he ever figured out I was in a hotel in New York…

"And what's your plan now that you've got me down here?" I asked resignedly.

"To torture you into submission," he said, quite seriously. I bit my lip. "Relax, I'm kidding," he said with a laugh.

"It wasn't funny," I muttered, looking away.

Changing the subject, he asked, "So you're living with Gates now?"

Remembering what had happened the last time I didn't answer, I sighed. "Yes." At least answering with short, one word answers was better than not answering at all.

He sighed loudly. "You're not very cooperative, are you?"

"Not for you I'm not," I said defiantly.

He glared at me, and I looked away. I could hear his footsteps getting closer to the place I sat, and then I felt him grab my chin and turn my face towards his.

"You don't seem to remember the consequences of not cooperating, do you?" he asked with a snarl.

I shivered. "I do," I muttered.

"Good," he said, releasing me and backing off. "Now let's try that again. You're living with Gates now?"

"Yes, I am," I said, wearily. It would come out in time, I figured.

"And why's that?" he asked.

Quickly thinking of a lie, I answered, "I couldn't pay for my own apartment."

"Hah!" he laughed. "You discovered the Templar treasure _and_ the lost city of Cibola, and you can't pay for an apartment?" He crossed over to where I sat and grabbed my chin again. "Lying isn't any good, either," he muttered before punching me again.

At least it was the other side of my face. I rubbed it painfully. "Seriously, Ian," I said, wincing at the pain in both sides of my face. "What are you going to do?"

"I've already told you enough," he snarled in response. "It's my turn to ask the questions."

For a few minutes, he didn't ask anything. I felt myself becoming more tired and worried by the moment. If Ben couldn't find me… I shuddered. He would find me.

"So tell me, and tell me the truth. Why are you living with Gates?"

"Convenience," I answered, partially truthfully.

"Again with the one-word answers," he sighed. "Wait a second." He stared at me with narrow eyes as it came to him. "You're _with_ him, aren't you?"

I didn't answer. I didn't react at all. I just sat there, waiting for everything to unravel.

"That's a twist I didn't see coming," he said with a strange laugh. "That makes this so much more… evil on my part, don't you think?"

"Leave him alone," I managed through the growing pain in my head. "What good is actually going to come out of this for you? You're just going to go back to prison, and you know it."

"You're talking like they're going to find you," he responded lazily, but there was a hint of fear in the way he straightened his posture.

"They're going to find me," I answered, trying to project confidence. "You picked an obvious hiding spot, if you told me the truth."

"Why wouldn't I tell you the truth?" he asked, seeming to really wonder.

"Perhaps because you've got me tied up and you're hiding me from the police, and everyone else. In the civilized world this is commonly known as kidnapping," I answered sarcastically.

"The ropes are for convenience," he answered. "You're much easier to move that way, in case we need to. Plus, that way you can't escape."

"That is the typical reason people are tied up," I sighed.

Fortunately for the moment he seemed to have forgotten Ben. I could only hope it remained that way. My head was aching, and I felt ready to pass out. Ian was wrapped up in his thoughts, or so I thought, so I attempted to lie down. Unfortunately the ropes made that nearly impossible. Frustrated, I let out a huge sigh.

"What?" he snapped, turning to look at me.

"Nothing," I responded, equally as angry. I turned my face from him stubbornly.

He sighed and came to sit by me. I turned, my curiosity giving in. His face leered hauntingly before mine. "So you're with Gates now?"

"Yes," I answered. "And I'm happy, so leave me alone."

"Are you? Really?" he asked with a menacing laugh. "Then why would you do this?"

His face moved closer to mine, and I resisted with everything I could. Wasn't I supposed to wake up at this part? Wasn't I supposed to be okay?

His lips touched mine at the same time that my fist found his jaw. He shook his head in anger.

"That was why I pointed the gun at you," he said through his teeth. His fist collided with the side of my head, and everything blacked out again.

_I'm miles from where you are_

_I lay down on the cold ground_

_And I, I pray that something picks me up_

_And sets me down in your warm arms_

"Set the Fire to the Third Bar" Snow Patrol ft. Martha Wainwright

**A/N: See? Surprised? …leave a review?**


	4. Point of Extinction

**A/N: This is the chapter where everything begins to make sense, so hopefully you'll like it. Enjoy =D  
Disclaimer: I'm having a bad day, so don't remind me I don't own Riley. **

I was finding it nearly impossible to sit still.

Abigail had the sense to drive to the airport, and I'd been alright through the boarding process, but then, once we'd gotten on the plane, I had become jittery and nervous. She kept placing her hand on mine and trying to encourage me, but I could barely hear her.

There are no words that can be said to comfort you when the one you love is dying and there's little you can do to stop them.

She was muttering something to me again, and I pursed my lips, frustrated.

"Would you please stop saying that everything is okay?" I asked. "It's not."

"I was going to ask if you had a plan for when we got there," she said, trying to ignore the hurt I'd inflicted.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I'm just a little frustrated," I admitted. "And…sort of."

"You sort of have a plan?" she asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

I shrugged, a little sheepish. "Well, I wasn't planning on dying, and I was planning on getting Ian re-arrested. Is that not enough of a plan?"

She blinked once. "No."

I bit my lip in contemplation—a habit I'd picked up from Riley. And there he was, in my thoughts again. I rubbed my temples. "Maybe you should work on a plan, too," I sighed helplessly.

She placed a hand on my back, sensing my hopelessness. "Now can I tell you he's going to be okay?"

"Yeah, that would help," I answered. She didn't answer, but she didn't move her hand, either.

I kept reviewing the situation in my mind. If Ian pulled the gun, I knew Riley would flip. Riley hated guns, and he tended to have the flight response. If he tried to run… he'd get shot. I knew that. What I didn't know was how to keep him calm long enough to have get evidence that Ian was holding him against his will and had attempted to murder him…

I met Abigail's eyes. "I have a plan."

NTNTNTNT

After I'd told the FBI agents my plan, they'd armed me and wished me good luck. I squinted, and turned to Abigail once we were out of earshot.

"I think we're going to need a little more than good luck," I told her, perfectly serious.

She frowned at me. "Do you have to be so negative?"

"I'm not being negative," I answered. "I'm being realistic."

She rolled her eyes. "Negative."

"Realistic."

"Negative!"  
"Realistic!"

After continuing this way for a minute, I realized she was trying to distract me, and I sighed.

"Distracting me is not a good idea right now," I told her.

She shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"

I had to admit, for a few moments, my mind had slipped from Riley's grip. "Yeah, I suppose it did." She smiled her victory smile, and I shook my head. "You're impossible."

We had arrived at the door for the room where Riley was supposedly hidden. Where Ian was holding him captive. Where I would have to face a man I thought I'd never seen. Instinctively my fists clenched.

"You're going to have to calm down," Abigail whispered.

"No," I said, moving her out of the way. "I'm not."

With an angry grunt, I threw myself into the door, turning the handle at the same time. To my surprise (and embarrassment) it opened easily.

Ian was crouching beside a figure I knew to be Riley, and I breathed deeply in relief. He wasn't dead…my mind couldn't help but add a tiny 'yet' to the end of my thought, but I pushed it away.

Ian stood, and, to my shock, got out of the way.

Suspicious, but anxious to see if Riley was alright, I crossed the room and crouched where Ian had been. His eyes were closed, and he had bruises on both sides of his face, but it didn't seem that any other damage had been done. I laid my hand on his face, and his eyes opened slightly, fighting the light.

"Riley," I breathed, relieved to see him awake.

"Ben? How did you find me?"

"Don't worry about it," I said, hoping he'd get the point. He seemed to, because he didn't say anything else. "Listen, Ri." I let my voice drop to a whisper and spoke into his ear. "If he pulls it out, don't move. Stand still, alright?"

He squinted at me. "What do you mean?"

"That's enough of that," Ian interrupted. He grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me out of the way.

I placed my hand in my pocket. "What do you want, Ian?"

"I spent the last five years in prison thanks to you," he said with something resembling a laugh. "What do you think I want?"

I rolled my eyes. "You nearly killed me, and everyone else. You did kill Shaw. You deserved to be in prison for what you did."

Mentioning Shaw was an intentional blow on my part, and I watched Abigail roll her eyes. Ian pursed his lips.

"Low blow, Gates," he said. "Remember that I've got Riley tied up right now."

Staring directly into my eyes, he aimed a kick into Riley's ribs. Riley cried out in pain, then gasped and tried to regain his breath. Abigail's hand flew to cover her mouth, and I was seriously thinking about abandoning the plan and killing Ian with my bare hands.

"What the fuck do you want?" I asked. "Revenge isn't going to come by hurting Riley."

"It isn't?" he asked, squinting as if he was truly trying to understand.

For reasons unknown, Riley suddenly looked terrified. I glanced down at him. "What do you mean?"

Ian turned to his prisoner. "You haven't told him, have you?"

"No, and I don't intend to," he answered through gritted teeth. "Please, please don't."

"What are you guys talking about?" I asked, confused.

"Ian, don't!" Riley shouted, struggling against his restraints.

With an evil grin, Ian turned to me. In a slow, deliberate voice, he said, "It's to my advantage he didn't tell you, actually."

I glanced at Riley, and then at Ian. I knew Riley didn't want me to know, but I couldn't help my curiosity. "What didn't you tell me, Ri?"

Ian answered for him. "We were together."

_Burning bridges is a form of suicide,_

_I saw the fire as a ghost in my life,_

_Passed me by and there is nowhere you can hide,_

_From the lessons or the lies you'll find out._

"Point of Extinction" Motion City Soundtrack

**A/N: Ah. See? That's why. I'm evil. More evil than Ian, perhaps. Okay, maybe not. I'll warn you ahead of time, the next chapter will be written in pure anger, because I'm going to start on it as soon as I post this. And this is going to be longer than 6 chapters now, because I changed something in my head. …review, please?**


	5. Make This Go On Forever

**A/N: Alright. I warned you last chapter, this chapter was written mostly in pure anger. I just sat down and this was what came out, so hopefully it's not terrible. I don't think it is.**

**Disclaimer: National Treasure isn't mine, sadly.**

I literally watched his heart break.

Okay, not actually his heart breaking, since that's not actually something physical. What I meant was that I literally watched every emotion flicker across his face—disbelief, anger, hurt, jealousy…everything. And he was staring directly at me.

The breath I hadn't realized I was holding jaggedly escaped my lips. I think Ian kicked me directly in the ribs, and broke at least one. "I'm sorry," I said, trying to make the wounded look on his face disappear.

"For what?" His voice was higher, angrier than I would have thought. It didn't match the look on his face, or the look in his eyes.

"For not telling you," I answered.

His eyes widened. "But you're not sorry for even being with him in the first place?"

Abigail looked like she needed to bite her tongue. "I'm sorry for that too," I said, flinching from his tone.

He turned away and ran his hands through his hair. "How long?"

"I don't know, a few months?" I guessed.

"Eight," provided Ian, who had returned to his chair.

I clenched my fist. "Shut the fuck up."

Ben wouldn't look at me, and, ridiculously enough, that hurt a lot more than the anger I'd seen in his eyes a few moments before. "Ben, please. It was nothing."

"Eight months of nothing," he responded. "Eight months of nothing that you didn't want to tell me about. Eight months of nothing that was clearly something or you wouldn't have kept it from me. We don't have secrets, Ri." He finally turned, and his eyes were dark. "Or at least I don't have secrets from you."

I pursed my lips and shut my eyes, trying to rid my imagination of that look, the look I knew would haunt me later. "I'm sorry."

Abigail finally spoke. "Ben, he didn't want to tell you because he didn't think it was important."

"Don't tell me you knew about this, too?" he demanded, glaring at her.

She shook her head vigorously. "I didn't, I swear. But I understand. He didn't think it was worth hurting you over something so small."

"Eight months isn't nothing!" he yelled, turning away again.

She recoiled and threw a hopeless glance in my direction. I nodded in silent appreciation for her help.

"Ben, I didn't tell you because I didn't feel the same way about him as I do about you," I said, attempting to explain my mistake. "I promise you, I have never loved anybody before you. And I didn't know he would turn on us."

"Don't say us," he answered.

I had to bite my lip to keep the tears I knew were coming from falling. "I'm telling the truth, Ben," I whispered. "I am."

He shook his head but didn't respond. He paced, probably trying to form a sentence in his head, and then he bit his lip.

A habit he'd picked up from me.

I leaned my head against the wall, trying to decide if he'd leave me down here, in the custody of Ian—who would do God knows what—because of a mistake I'd made over five years ago.

"Well," Ian said, standing. "As much fun as this little lover's quarrel has been, I can't help but feel you don't have much time left."

Slowly but surely, he pulled a gun from the holster on his belt.

Panicking, I started to shake. 'If he pulls it out, don't move,' Ben had said. Understanding his words didn't make me like them any more, and I was unsure he would even want to save me at the moment. But I had to listen to him, because I was almost sure he had a plan, and that whether we were fighting or not, he'd get me out alive.

Abigail had frozen against one wall, and Ben, for some reason, stood relaxed but frozen with his hands in his pockets. I had to wonder about his stance, but he wouldn't look at me.

"Pulling a gun doesn't help anything," he said, rather sarcastically for a person who was being threatened. "You remember the last time you tried to resort to that."

"I do," he agreed. "But you don't have a flare this time."

"I don't need a flare to get out alive," Ben answered. I looked at Abigail, and she rolled her eyes.

"But you do need luck," Ian pointed out. "You have to admit that in reality your luck is the only thing that saved you, or Riley." Ben's face remained impassive at the mention of my name; he didn't even look my way. I couldn't decide if that was good or bad. "And your luck, so far, has been running short."

"That wasn't luck," he answered, through his teeth. "That was a lie and a bastard move on your part."

At least he thought Ian was a bastard. He probably thought I was a bastard too, but both of us being bastards was better than just me being a bastard.

"Maybe," Ian agreed, fairly amicably. "But the last time I checked, I was the one with the gun, so being cheeky isn't going to help your luck."

Why was Ian being so agreeable? Why was Ben so relaxed? There were so many questions running through my mind I couldn't sort them out.

"What's going to get us out of here alive?" he asked. He looked a little more worried now.

Ian shrugged and appeared to think about it. "Oh, let's say…five million dollars? That's half of one percent, right?"

"You know that's not possible," Ben sighed. "I've already spent part of it, and you didn't help in the discovery."

"Like hell I didn't!" Ian exclaimed, giving him an incredulous look.

"At least in my book, helping is not equivalent with threatening to kill us all and then abandoning us to die beneath a church," he answered.

Ian pointed the gun at my forehead and stared Ben directly in the eyes. I nearly had to stuff my fist in my mouth to keep from yelling, but Ben still remained relaxed. I tried my hardest to not panic and waited for him to save me.

Suddenly, Ben looked agitated, which only confused me more. "You do know what's going to happen if you shoot him."

"Sure, I do," Ian answered, unmoving. "The FBI will catch me, I'll go to jail, and probably not get out for the rest of my life."

Ben nodded and took a step forward, although I could see the confusion in his face. Why was Ian talking about prison so calmly? "You're exactly right. If you shoot him, or anyone else, the FBI will be on your ass before you can blink. Is that really worth it?"

"Ben, I'm not an idiot," Ian said. "I know you've got the FBI wrapped around your little finger, and that they're probably on their way down right now. That's what you think, anyway." He turned to me. "When I told you I'd kissed the right people's asses, I meant it."

A horrible sickening feeling overtook me. Ian had played us all. He was going to shoot us all, and he was going to get away with it. I threw a panicky look in Ben's direction, and he looked furious.

"You shoot him, and, so help me God, I will personally chase you down until you're in jail for the rest of your life, and if that's the death of me, then so be it," he growled.

Ian considered this for a moment. "Have it your way, then."

Before I could react, before I could think, I heard the sound of a gun, and I felt a sudden and unbearable pain in my forehead. Everything began to blur, including noises. Although my vision was beginning to fade, in a moment of clarity, I heard Ben call my name in despair, and then everything went black.

_Please don't let this turn into something it's not_

_I can only give you everything I've got_

_I can't be as sorry as you think I should_

_But I still love you more than anyone else could_

"Make This Go On Forever" Snow Patrol

**A/N: Poor Riley can't seem to get through a chapter without getting injured. Ack. This was fairly long for me (like three hundred words over my goal) so hopefully you'll tell me how much you appreciate my effort. …review, please?**


	6. Better Than Alone

**A/N: I had majorly intense writer's block, and I'm so, so sorry. I hate it when people say they'll have the next chapter up within a few days and then they take a week and a half, and I'm guilty. And this chapter isn't so great, since it's sort of a transition chapter. I'm sorry I suck =(**

Time moved slowly, and then even slower. Somehow, Ian's words hit me the moment I heard the gunshot. I was torn—more torn than I should have been—between beating him to a pulp and rushing to Riley's side.

And, of course, that was the exact moment the FBI showed up.

I didn't recognize the agents, but Ian didn't appear to, either, so I figured they were on our side. When I saw that they had Ian in custody, I knelt down beside Riley. Ian had been so close when he'd shot him—close enough that I knew I had to expect the worst. I grasped his hand and looked to Abigail, who I hadn't noticed beside him. She had that devastated look in her eyes, the look that told me she didn't believe he would make it.

"He's going to live," I whispered, more to myself than to her. "He's going to fucking live."

I ripped the bottom of my shirt off and pressed it to his head, hoping some of the bleeding would stop. His eyes were closed, and his mouth hung slightly open. His glasses were crooked, more so than usual. A bruise spread across his entire right cheek, and there was a hint of one on the other. The sight of him so broken, so helpless, terrified me. I placed a hand on his less injured cheek. "You're going to live," I whispered, and I began to repeat it like a mantra. "You're going to live, you're going to live, you're going to live." Abigail was crying, and I had to stay focused, or I knew I would be too.

The seconds ticked by like eternities, and I whispered a thousand prayers of thanks when the paramedics arrived. I was even more thankful—and terrified—when they moved him onto a backboard after examining for only a minute. When we got to the ambulance and they let me ride with them, I decided they were my heroes.

In the comparative quiet of the ambulance, where only a few medics and myself resided, I had time to let the guilt wash over me. I should never have been so angry with him over his past; I should have been more forgiving. I should have, I should have, I should have. A million should haves plagued me, and the thought that I could have lost him—could still lose him—without ever apologizing haunted me. If the last thing he had ever seen was me angry… I could never have lived with myself.

We finally, _finally_ arrived at the hospital. I was too worried to care which hospital we were at, but I gathered enough to know that we were at a level one trauma center, and the seriousness of everyone around me unsettled me. It made me feel like there was no hope, and I fought like hell to hold on to the strand of faith that remained wrapped around my heart.

I knew they would kick me out of the room once we got there, and surely enough, a kind nurse gently steered me away from his bedside and into a nearby room. She was taking my vitals, but I was numb; I barely felt her. I wanted more than anything to be with him, to help him, but the notion that I couldn't help him kept me glued to the bed and my mind racing.

When she determined I wasn't in shock (_I_ was, but apparently my body wasn't), she walked me out to the waiting room, where Abigail sat.

And then we waited.

Half an hour passed, and a surgeon came out to address us. "It's not looking good," he said. "There was a lot of damage to Mr. Poole's brain. You should prepare yourselves." Then he walked away.

A shocked silence fell, and persisted until I turned to Abigail. "We should prepare ourselves?" I asked. "What the hell does that mean? How do you prepare yourself for death?"

She had no answer, and I expected none. I couldn't sit still; I paced back and forth and around the little chair island. I flipped through magazines without absorbing any information. I wiggled my foot, I clenched my jaw, and all the while the same thought persevered in its assault on my sanity.

_If Riley dies, the last thing he will have seen is me angry._

I couldn't stop thinking about it. I tried to think about anything else, and every thought led back to him. He was going to live, I decided, because he couldn't die thinking I hated him.

An hour passed, then two, then three. Abigail fell asleep on my shoulder somewhere between hours four and five, and by hour six I was mulling over what would happen if I broke into the surgery.

Finally, twenty-seven minutes into hour seven, the same surgeon appeared, wearing a grim expression. With a sense of dread, I shook Abigail awake.

"Please," I said, hoarse after not talking for hours. "Please don't tell me he's dead."

"He's not," the man answered.

An ocean of relief swept over me, and I had to bury my head in my hands to hide the tears that overcame me. Abigail placed a hand on my back, but I could tell that she too was shaking from relief.

"But."

There's always a but, I realized, and it was probably a worse but than I expected, considering the look on his face. I glanced up at him again. "But what?"

He sighed and looked away. "He'll probably wake up blind."

_So lay me down with a ghost_

'_Cause anything's better than alone_

_And how do I say what's over?  
Tell me, how do I live on my own_

_When anything's better than alone?_

"Better Than Alone" Thriving Ivory

**A/N: Ah. I told you it sucked. Maybe you don't hate me—it would be nice to know =) …review, please?**


	7. Permanent

**A/N: Wee, fast new chapter. Although, as I've said before, Riley is SO much easier to write than Ben. I should warn you though—I'm not blind, so I don't know what being blind is like. This is all just a guess, so hopefully I'm not completely wrong.**

There comes a time in everyone's life when the struggles are too much to bear, and you want nothing more than to give up, to give in. It might be something little, thrown on top of a pile of little things that have gathered over a lifetime. It might be just one huge thing, something so devastating and so life-altering that it's impossible to overcome.

It was the second one for me.

It took me a miserably long time to force myself awake. I knew I was teetering on the edge of death, and I knew that if I could just open my eyes, I would be alright. I could hear the voices first. Subdued and low, but louder than I expected. There were a few voices I didn't recognize—doctors, I assumed, and I realized with a sense of dread that I was probably in a hospital. Then, quiet and shaking, I could hear Abigail's voice, although I couldn't make out the words she said. A low bass responded, and then, with an overwhelming sense of relief, I recognized Ben's voice.

Some sort of noise must have escaped my lips, because the conversation stopped, and I could feel the sudden tension in the room. Suddenly a hand gripped mine, and I wanted to know who belonged to the feeling.

It was much harder than it should have been to force my eyes open. It hurt, but not because of the light. My eyelids literally hurt, like I'd been repeatedly punched in the eyes. Another groan forced its way out, and whoever was gripping my hand squeezed harder. My eyelids fluttered, and finally I pushed my eyes open.

Or I thought I had.

Everything was indistinct, and mostly black. Only a small circle of vision remained, and it was so blurry I couldn't tell what I was seeing. I moved my head around, trying to see if it was just where I was looking. But it wasn't—nothing was clear, and I still couldn't see the person holding my hand.

"Wha?" I tried to speak, although my voice was hoarse from no use.

"Riley," Ben's voice breathed, sounding relieved. "You're awake."

"I am?" I asked, a little panicked. "Why can't I see you?" There was no reply, and I attempted to look around frantically. "Ben, why can't I see you?" I felt my voice and fright rising with every word. "_Why_ can't I see you?"

In response, he squeezed my hand, but he still didn't speak. I could hear another person moving toward me, and then felt the end of my bed depress—he'd sat down.

"Mr. Poole. The bullet was located in a tricky part of your brain. Honestly, you're lucky to be alive."

"Stop beating around the bush," I said, impatience and panic making my voice sound foreign even to me. "What's wrong with me?"

He sighed audibly, and another hand—softer, more gentle—grabbed my unoccupied hand. I could feel it shaking, and remembered that Abigail was still in the room. "You're blind."

A silence blanketed us. Abigail poorly stifled a sob, and Ben was probably staring intently at me, waiting for a response. But, since I couldn't see, I didn't know. I could barely move. I could barely breathe. I shook my head. "It's not permanent," I whispered, hoping someone would jump in with a, "No, Riley, it'll just last a day or two, and then you'll be back to normal." But optimism was never my strong suit, and it didn't seem to be the strong suit of the doctor either.

"We don't know yet," he said, revealing a poorly concealed lie.

"Which is code for yes, it's permanent," I said. "Thanks for the truth."

I was struggling to breathe, and the monitors around me began to beep more frequently. Abigail and Ben were suddenly much closer, trying to calm me down, and the weight at the end of my bed disappeared. Ben's hand, laid on my shoulder, was suddenly removed, and the doctor's voice was much closer when he next spoke.

"It may return," he said, trying to sound concerned. "We don't know enough about it yet to tell you one way or the other."

"How often do people recover from this?" I demanded.

There was silence for a moment, and hesitation made his voice weak when he spoke. "I don't have the statistics on hand, but there's hope."

I shook my head. "Get out," I said lowly. When, after a moment, I could still feel his presence, I let anger control my voice again. "Get out!"

After a moment, his presence disappeared, and a sudden weight next to me surprised me. "Scoot over," Ben said. I did as he asked, and he laid down next to me.

We were quiet for a moment, and his sudden placement of a hand on my chest scared me again.

"Did Abigail leave?" I asked, turning my head in his direction. I felt embarrassed to ask the question.

"Yeah, she was hungry, I think. We've been here a while."

"How long?"

A moment passed—I assume he was checking his watch—before he answered. "Nearly twenty hours."

"Oh. How long did the surgery take?"

"Seven hours and twenty-seven minutes." I had to smile a little at his preciseness. "I was a little worried."

"That I wasn't going to make it?" I asked.

Another moment passed, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of pain. "Yes."

It was quiet for a moment while I tried to think of a response. "I wasn't going to leave you," I said. "I was fighting like hell."

"I know you were," he whispered.

I wanted to comfort him, but I didn't know what to say. I shook my head. "I don't know if I can live like this."

The anger in his voice when he said, "You have to," caught me off guard, and again I was without a response. My lack of eloquence must have seemed to him as acceptance, because he didn't say anything either. Then, after a few minutes of silence, he said, "I would have missed you."

I sighed. "I would have missed you too. A lot more than you know."

He placed a hand on my cheek first, so I expected his lips to gently touch mine. It didn't last long, but it was sweet, and when he removed them, he placed his hand on my chest again.

I would struggle—I knew that. But, in that moment, I realized that he would be there, and he would help me through it.

_Will you think that you're all alone_

_When no one's there to hold your hand?_

_And all you know seems so far away,_

_And everything is temporary, rest your head--  
I'm permanent_

"Permanent" David Cook

**A/N: I like it—I think I got the blind thing down okay. Maybe. …review, please?**


	8. The Best In Me

**A/N: It should be known that this is the last chapter. And that's all I have to say. I hope you love it!**

A week passed before Riley could walk, thanks to the broken rib Ian had given him, and another before he as released from the hospital—still sightless. In those weeks I was at his side almost constantly. I couldn't leave him, and not because he couldn't handle my absence, but because I couldn't handle his. I realized that his blindness opened my eyes to just how much I need him.

And, although we had plenty of opportunities, neither of us brought up the whole Ian thing. He was forgiven, and his acknowledgement to pass unspoken between us.

Once we got back from New York, we spent an entire day learning the house. The experience humbled me; watching him struggle around the same home we'd lived in for years made me see just how much I'd taken for granted.

After dinner that night, we were both so exhausted we practically fell into bed, but I got in a moment after he did, and I must have scared him.

"Jesus, Ben!" he snapped, taking a deep breath. "Could you be a little more careful?"

"Sorry," I apologized with a frown that I realized too late he couldn't see.

"Just warn me next time," he said, turning to his face was toward the wall. I sighed and put an arm around him. "I'm sorry."

"Can you please stop with the pity?" he asked, anger and bitterness in his tone. "I got myself into this in the first place, didn't I?"

I wanted to apologize again, but I knew it would help anything. I could feel that his muscles were still tense, as if he was still thinking about him. I felt helpless; I couldn't do anything to comfort him. With a quit sigh, I kissed his neck, and I felt him jump again.

"Damnit!" he snapped, pulling away from me. "At least warn me when you're going to touch me!"

All tiredness was gone—I was too worried about him. "Okay, I'm sitting up now." I did so, and with an exasperated sigh he followed suit.

"You want to talk about it, don't you?" It was more of statement than a question, and his anger had faded.

"Only if you want to," I answered. I'd decided I wasn't going to force him into it.

"Again with the pity," he said, and his voice held some of his former bitterness. "Do you want to hear about it or not?"

I thought about it for moment. I didn't want to cause him any more pain; I'd already done that. But at the same time, my curiosity was nearly untamable. I bit my lip. "Are you going to be okay telling it?"

"No," he admitted. "But I need to talk about it, and I want you to hear it."

I wasn't completely satisfied with his answer, but he wanted me to know. "Then I want to hear it."

He sighed, as if trying to decide where to begin. "I might as well start at the beginning," he muttered. He turned his sightless eyes on me and began.

"I had a…um. Boyfriend isn't the right term, but I'm going to use it. I had a boyfriend when we first met. We'd actually only been…going out for a few months when I met you. Anyways, he broke up with me the day before our one-year…whatever. And I was sad. You weren't with us that night—you were researching or something—but Ian and friends and I went out, and I guess I got really drunk. Not that I remember this, but Ian took me home and put me in bed, and then when I woke up he made me his hangover remedy. I guess it just felt nice to be cared about, because…well, you can guess what happened."

I didn't want to, but I did, and I had to make a face so he couldn't see my reaction. "Go on, please."

He almost smirked, probably amused at the thought of my jealousy. "Anyways. It was an accident the first time, and probably the second time, but it sort of became a habit. It wasn't a habit I enjoyed, but it was a habit I couldn't break for a really long time." He grew somber, a frown set in place on his face. "He didn't want anyone to know about it, of course, and I got tired of hiding it. So I stopped it. That was pretty much it."

"He made it seem like a lot more than that," I said, wondering if he was leaving something out.

"I didn't realize he was that resentful," he said with a shrug.

"And that's it?" I asked.

He frowned and looked away. "I might have said I love you on accident."

I practically had to shove my fist in my mouth to stop myself from saying anything, and although he couldn't see it, he sighed. "Don't react like that. It's not like I was cheating on you. It was a long time ago."

"I know that," I said quickly. "I just…didn't expect it, I guess."

He laughed bitterly. "Did you think I'd never loved anyone before?"

"No," I muttered, feeling naïve. "I guess I hadn't thought about it that much, is all."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I've definitely never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I never will."

I reached out for his hands, and he didn't even jump when I touched him. We were quiet for a while, sitting there. We were both wrapped up in our thoughts—I was reflecting on everything that had happened, and apparently he was too.

"So tell me something," he said, scaring me out of my reverie.

"Anything," I answered.

He frowned. "I'm never going to see again, am I?"

I sighed. I knew he would eventually ask this; I just hadn't expected the question so soon. "I didn't want to lie for you, for what's it worth."

"I know," he said, and despite already knowing, I could hear the disappointment in his tone. "The doctor wasn't a good liar, anyway. It was painfully obvious."

His blind eyes met mine, and I bit my lip. "I'm sorry."

"I was serious when I said stop saying that," he replied, a sharp edge to his voice. "I'm not going to let this change me."

Somehow, I knew he was perfectly serious. Even if everyday was an uphill battle, even if I was wearing down my last thread of patience, I knew he would be okay. "I know," I said simply.

He nodded, and without speaking, we both laid down again. This time, though, he let me put my arm around him.

_And I've got it almost figured out_

_If I could get you closer to me_

'_Cause it's a good life for a short time_

_And you've got me almost figured out_

_There's almost nothing left to see_

_You're bringing out the best in me_

"The Best In Me" Sherwood

**A/N: So there you have it: the end of ****Better Than Alone****. I had so much fun writing this, and I really hope you had as much fun reading it. And it should also be noted that this is my first full-length (if you could call it that) fic for NT =D Yay me. Okay, one last time. …review, please?**


End file.
